


Not Friends

by julidoesnotwrites (notjuli)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock Holmes, Asexual Sherlock Holmes/Heterosexual John Watson, Asexual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Gen, Heterosexual John Watson, M/M, Straight!John, ace!sherlock, straight john watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 15:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17769149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjuli/pseuds/julidoesnotwrites
Summary: John and Sherlock are not friends. They are... Something else.





	Not Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not Beta-ed not Brit-picked and English is not my first language, so if you notice any errors please do leave a coment letting me know!

“But we are not _friends_ , Sherlock!” John yelled angrily, “That's the whole point!” he exclaimed turning around, grabbed his coat and stormed off the flat, his steps resounding strongly down the stairs and, after the door slammed shut, 221 Baker Street was left in absolute silence.

//

God he was an idiot. He was the biggest arsehole in the whole world. Oh god. Oh god he had fucked up. Oh he had fucked up badly. Oh god John Watson you are the bloody biggest idiot in the whole fucking galaxy. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh fucking hell. Christ, he couldn't have fucked up any worse than that. Oh christ. God, why did he have to react so strongly? So _badly_ ? Oh hell and how would Sherlock interpret that? _Oh, bloody fuck_.

John wasn't even sure how they had reached that point. Well, yes, but he wasn't sure how _he_ had reached that point of... of annoyance and discomfort and and and. And he wasn't even sure why he was so bothered this time, it was not any different than the other times and god knows this was not the first time Sherlock had interrupted and completely ruined one of his dates.

But he did; Sherlock crashed his date after spamming him with text messages for half an hour and after bothering him (them, Anna was _definitely_ bothered) for ten minutes forced him to leave. And he didn't even have an acceptable excuse this time, maybe that bothered John more than usual. And then upon arrival to 221B Sherlock proceeded to demand tea and claim that “you should be thanking me John, really. You were clearly bored with her, and had no real possibilities; this is your second, hm no, third, date with her and while she was looking for a long-term relationship but was actually scared of commitment and wasn't going to allow intercouse until at least a month from now, you keep telling yourself that you are looking for a serious long-term relationship with all this women you keep dating, but you actually don't really care much anymore and you are hoping for a person reliable enough to have intercouse with, hopefully in repeated occasions because you hate a) looking for partners and b) are a romantic and would prefer it was the same partner overtime.”

And honestly, John had the right to be bothered, just from all that. So when he refused to make tea and said he was going to bed and Sherlock looked surprised and said “you are angry. Why are you angry?” and started to throw a fit and rant about John's life choices and “poor taste in women” and about how “ungrateful” he was, John was definitely pissed at that point. So he reacted badly, of course, and he and Sherlock started a shouting match, progressively rising their voices; “I honestly can't believe you,” and “you know I'm right, I always am,” and “you can't be serious, Sherlock! You can't keep ruining my dates!” and “They are meaningless and useless John.” and “Well that's up to me to say! You can't keep interfering with my life!” and “but I was trying to help!” and “But that's still not up to you!” and “But we are friends John!” and then John had been a bloody idiot and fucked up and stormed out and walked like an idiot for too long and was now sitting in a cold bench somewhere in a ratty London street he didn't recognize well past midnight. _And_ he was cold. Bloody hell.

He seriously needed to think about this. About how to not fuck up things even more and how to explain to Sherlock what he meant. Because yeah, he and Sherlock didn't _talk_ about things, but this they needed to talk about no matter how much it hurted John's pride or his We-Are-British-Men-And-We-Don't-Talk-About-Feelings-Because-We-Shouldn't-Have-Them idea.

//

John opened the door to 221 Baker Street slowly and tried to close it soundlessly. He went up the stairs trying not to make much noise, even skipping the third, eighth and eleventh steps as they always squeaked and stopped in front of the door to ‘B’. He'd seen from the street through the windows that the lights were off, but one never knew with Sherlock. So he took a deep breath and stepped inside. It was dark and a bit cold, John quickly checked the sitting room and kitchen, both empty. He peered into the bathroom next, also empty, and finally stood in front of Sherlock's bedroom door. He took another deep breath and knocked, “Hey Sherlock... I know you are in there, your keys and coat are out here and you may forget your keys but you'd never forget your coat, I've only ever seen you leave without it intentionally for a reason, but never forget it.” He stopped rambling and waited for a moment and was greeted with silence, so he continued, “and I know you are not sleeping too. The odds of you sleeping today were already low, and then well, that happened, and I know for sure you are not sleeping after that.” And more silence. “I doubt I'll sleep either,” he mumbled as he sat down, resting his head against the door. “Listen Sherlock, can we talk? We really need to talk and I'd love to do it to your face and not to a closed door.” ... “Ok well, I'm sorry yeah? I didn't meant that. Well, didn't meant it like that anyways, but you are my friend Sherlock, you are my best friend, pretty much the only one I have now, but... but you are also so much more...” he almost whispered the end, and as he received no answer he closed his eyes and waited.

//

Suddenly he was falling and the next instant he hit his head against something hard. He mumbled a curse and found himself in Fight or Flight mode but everything was dizzy and then there was a voice, “John? John, are you alright? Can you hear me John?” _Sherlock_ , his mind provided, _no danger_ , it assured. After he calmed down a bit and could open his eyes clearly he noticed that he was on the floor by the (open) door of Sherlock's room with Sherlock standing right next to him. It was still dark, but not as much as he last remembered, it was beginning to dawn and there was some clarity coming in from the windows. He got up and Sherlock immediately apologized “I didn't know you were there, so when I opened the door you fell back, I'm sorry.” And as soon as he started he turned around and walked past him to the kitchen. It took John a moment to remember why was he sitting by Sherlock's door and when he did he almost run following Sherlock, who was now by the kitchen table looking at something on his microscope and taking notes in some old notebook John had never seen before. “Sherlock,” he started, “can we talk for a moment?” “Hh, no, whatever for? I'm busy.” “Sherlock I really think we need to talk. You don't even have to say anything, can you just listen to me for five minutes? Just let's go sit and you pay attention to me for five minutes, that's all I'm asking, please Sherlock,  this is important,” John almost begged. Sherlock huffed but got up and walked to the sitting room, John followed and they sat each in their armchair. John just then registered the pain of sleeping on the floor and against a door, _fuck, that's going to hurt all day_ , but the pain could wait, this was more important.

“Listen Sherlock,” he started, “firstly I have to apologize for yesterday. I shouldn't have gotten that angry and definitely shouldn't have stormed off, especially after saying what I said. And I'm sorry I did, and I'm especially sorry for leaving you here for who knows how many hours thinking that we weren't friends or I didn't consider you my friend or whatever thought must've gone through that massive head of yours. So I'm sorry.” He paused for a moment and tried to study Sherlock's face, finding it completely blank.

“The other thing, I should probably clear up what I meant with that and why I said it,” he continued, “we definitely are friends, I definitely consider you my friend, but,” he took a deep breath, “but the thing is Sherlock, we are not friends. We don't act like friends are supposed to be, to act. I keep going on dates that I am really not that interested in, and whether you actually interfere or not I still keep coming back here regardless because I keep thinking about how we could be doing better things or if you are ok, I always keep coming back to you. And, I don't know, friends are not supposed to do that! And friends are not supposed to share food constantly or to feed each other or to bloody cuddle on the couch watching telly! Hell, we've even slept together! Way too many times! And half of those weren't even with a good excuse Sherlock! And friends are not supposed to do that! Friends don't sleep together Sherlock. We've cuddled in your bed! More than once for that matter! We've kissed Sherlock! You've kissed me right here,” he said pointing to his cheek, “and I've kissed you in your bloody forehead, and friends are not supposed to kiss! And friends are not supposed to cuddle and friends are not supposed to sleep together or to play with eachothers bloody hair or or who knows what else! And that's the point Sherlock, we are not friends, we are not what friends are supposed to be, we've never been! We just tried to ignore all this I guess, I sure know I tried to ignore it. We tried to ignore all this and don't let anyone notice because what if someone found out? Everything could go so wrong Sherlock and I don't want it to. But friends just sleep in another bed Sherlock and friends don't treat me like you do and like I treat you and that's the point Sherlock; we are not friends.” He paused for a moment and breathed deeply, “but I don't think I want that either Sherlock. That's the whole point. I don't mind when we do those things. I _like it_ when we do those things. I love playing with your hair and I don't mind sleeping with you and the cuddling and any of it. But those are not things friends do Sherlock, and that's the point. And it scares the bloody shit out of me, especially because it's you and who knows what you think, if you even noticed, who knows. But those are not things friends are supposed to do. Because we are not friends Sherlock. We are... something  else, I don't know. But that's not what friends are supposed to do.”

They stayed silent for a few minutes and when John was about to apologize and leave, Sherlock spoke up; “You know John, I told you once that I don't have friends, I've got just the one. And I wasn't trying to compliment you, I was telling you the truth, I've never had a friend, you are the closest thing I've got. And I don't know if the things I do, we do, are friend things or if they are not, because I honestly got no reference there. I don't know if the things I do with you I'd want to do it with other friends if I had them, all I know it's that I want to do them with you. Not with a friend, not with something else, but with John Watson, whatever that may mean.”

John looked up to Sherlock's eyes and saw something he'd never seen before. “Sherlock I- I know what your thoughts on emotions and feelings and the bunch are, but can I ask you some things?” Sherlock nodded. “Do you- Do you want to, or would be interested in having sex with me?” Sherlock made a weird face, almost disgusted, “I've never found it appealing to begin with and even though I've never tried the act of intercouse itself I've had similar enough sexual experiences to tell that no, I am not interested in that, at all. It's rather, hm, no. No. Not at all John.” “Ok, ok that's good. Ok, me neither Sherlock, that's good. And you did liked it when we cuddled or kissed or whatever right?” “Yes John, I've already said so, and honestly, I would've never done it in the first place if I didn't wanted to, whenever have you seen me do something I didn't _want_ to do?” “Yes, ok, that makes sense. Ok, well, me too Sherlock. Hhm. Do you... Ok, you don't like it when I go on dates right?” “Obviously John, they are useless and honestly it's a-” “That's not what I'm asking, I'm asking if it bothers _you_ , no if you find them useful or not.” Sherlock nodded. “Well, ok,” continued John, “so nothing sexual, that's good, we agree there, but what... What about boundaries? What are we comfortable with doing with each other?” Sherlock turned his head to the side and looked confused. “Well, ok, we like sleeping together occasionally, we don't mind kisses here and there, cuddles are good, hand holding sometimes, so physical contact of that kind is usually ok, right?” Sherlock nodded again. “Do you... Do you want to kiss me? On the lips I mean.” “I don't think there'd be much difference from your cheek John, but it's not something that's particularly calling.” “Hm, ok, fair, if you are going to do it you might want to warn me first though.” Another nod. “And... Ok, well. We probably should talk about this a lot more you know, but it's not even six and I barely slept two hours _on the floor_ and I'm sore and tired, I'm going to bed. You... You probably didn't sleep either, d'you want to... want to join me?” Sherlock smiled lightly and got up extending a hand to John said “come on, your shoulder is going to kill you later.”

As they arranged themselves in Sherlock's bed, both on their sides, facing each other, with Sherlock's face to John's chest, John hugging Sherlock over his shoulders, a hand on his back and the other on his hair, Sherlock with one hand on John's chest next to his own face and the other on his back going over his hip, they were both smiling. John breathed deeply, his nose buried on Sherlock's hair, and let out a content hum. Sherlock breathed in, intoxicated with John's smell and hugged him closely. “I love you” mumbled John sleepily, “I know” replied Sherlock in a whisper and pressed himself against John some more.

And if from there on they were closer, not only physically but in every way, that's for them to know. And if Mrs. Hudson found them cuddling and hugging and even occasionally kissing much more often now and gave a knowing smile, that's for her to know. And if Greg arrived once to 221B with a case and found them asleep cuddling together in the couch and suddenly he realised that he wasn't imagining them walking into crime scenes hand on hand, that's for him to know. And if Mycroft smiled lightly and sent them a good bottle of wine, that's for him to know. And if Mummy Holmes was delighted and almost teared up when his dear boy introduced John as ‘his partner’ when he brought him up for Christmas and saw them both turn bright pink, that's for her to know.

And if they lived together for the rest of their lives, with no one but them really understanding their relationship, well, they didn't care, because they did.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, juli here, this is the first fic im posting, like ever. I had this idea and wrote it all down in a few hours and I managed to actually finish it! I'm actually kinda happy with how it turned out but I'd love to know whay y'all think!  
> Sherlock feels a bit ooc, I'm still pretty new to writting in general and to this fandom so I find him pretty hard to write; if anyone has any advice about that please leave a coment about it!  
>   
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thisisnotjuli) on my personal blog and [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fanishjuli) on my fandoms blog!


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